


the strongest feeling can be the weakest part of you

by inkwelled



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Family Reunions, Mentions of Steriods, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Sharing a Bed, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-03-30 09:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13949136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwelled/pseuds/inkwelled
Summary: In the quiet space between them on the five-hour flight, Katniss had gone through every argument why spiriting her away to a third-world country over a packet papers was stupid but had known, despite every protest, Natasha was right.She’d only add gasoline to the fire, the thing she seemed to be the best at.





	1. love, if it didn't cut so deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyesopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesopen/gifts).



> title from [wouldn't be love (acoustic)](https://genius.com/R-i-t-u-a-l-wouldnt-be-love-lyrics) by r i t u a l

The air on the other side of the glass is heavy with the recent rainfall and behind her, the door beeps, altering her someone’s there. She sighs, shoulders slumped with the weight of everything that’s happened and everything to come - the Accords and the impact they’ll have.

“Ms. Everdeen?”

Her white tunic, plain compared to even the simplest of garments here, is soft when it brushes against her legs as she turns. She feels too luxurious here, too pampered, and it’s only been a day.

In Shuri’s lab, she watches everything unfold from screens larger than she’s ever seen, even in Avengers compound. The lab has become more of a home to her than the bedroom she was provided upon arrival in Wakanda, reminding her of Bruce and Tony’s lab.

It's been a month and she wonders how Tony’s doing, knowing that the Accords have been announced today and General Ross has presented them to the team. She wonders about Natasha and whether the lines in her face has deepened.

On the way to Wakanda, her mother had been quiet in the pilot’s seat, knuckles white around the controls and eyes tight. The air between them had been weighted with the knowledge that she hadn’t said goodbye to Steve, hadn’t said goodbye to Peter.

Katniss had curled up in the co-pilot’s seat and pressed her cheek to her knees, hoping Steve would understand _why_. It had been the dead of night when Natasha had shaken her awake and pulled her from sleep, purposefully ignoring the fact that Steve had been in her bed.

It wasn’t common knowledge, her and Steve’s routine. Nightmares were common for both of them - Steve dreaming of Bucky’s fall and her of Gale falling over the edge, mouth stretched wide, eyes glowing an unnatural blue. The third night she awoke choking on her own cries, she had wandered into the kitchen and the light had been on. Steve had been at the counter, facing away from her, hands wrapped around a steaming mug but gaze fastened on the far wall.

She had joined him, silent, and the next morning she woke in his arms. For the first time in almost three years, she hadn’t dreamed at all and had woken without goosebumps. She had rolled over, pressed a hesitant kiss to Steve’s nose and smiled when his face wrinkled, disturbed.   

Natasha had tossed a duffel bag at her, whispering to only pack the essential because wheels were up in ten, and she had flitted around the room. Steve had stirred only once, causing her to freeze while trying to take her jacket off the hook.

She had brushed a kiss to his forehead and the door clicked closed behind her.

Both her parents had been waiting on the roof, lights off in the Quinjet and Clint had pulled her into a tight hug before grasping her by the shoulders and smiling tightly.

“See you soon, kid,” he had murmured, voice restricted. She had leaned back into his embrace, duffel forgotten on the tarmac until Natasha had placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s time to go,” she had whispered and Katniss had clambered into the jet, ignoring the whispers the two partners traded.

Her goodbye with Natasha once they’d reached and crossed the border to Wakanda was shorter, a bit more awkward but nonetheless made her tear up. Her mother, never the big one for hugs, had pulled her into an embrace the second they’d docked, headgear around her neck.

“We’ll come back,” her mother had whispered into her ear and she had buried her face in Natasha’s shoulder, “I promise.”

 Katniss had known logically she wouldn’t be abandoned again, wasn’t being left behind then, but her mind had said otherwise.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, _Katja_ , but this is the only way to keep you safe. Once this all blows over, we’ll come get you.”

 She had refused to cry. “I know,” she had said, sniffling as she pulled back from the embrace and immediately regretting it. “Promise?”

 Natasha had brushed away a tear she hadn’t known escaped her eye, blinked twice, and her smile hadn’t reached her eyes. “Promise, my little _solnyshko.”_

Three of the Dora Milaje had been there when she stepped out of the Quinjet, armor glinting in the light from the rising sun and she had waited awkwardly to the side as Natasha thanked the Queen for letting her stay.

“Of course,” Queen Ramonda had murmured. “Anything for a mother.” 

The Quinjet’s blades had cut through the air and Katniss watched as Natasha nodded to her through the window as it lifted off the ground. She would return to the compound before the sunrise, enough time to slip back into bed and stop the loop of footage.

 _We can’t let anyone know where you’re going,_ she had said as they’d taken off from the compound, Katniss casting longing looks back at the closest thing she’d ever had to home.

In the quiet space between them on the five-hour flight, Katniss had gone through every argument why spiriting her away to a third-world country over a packet papers was stupid but had known, despite every protest, her mother was right.

She’d only add gasoline to the fire, the thing she seemed to be the best at.

She opens her eyes, and crosses the room, placing her hand on the sensor. After a second, it flashes green and the door slides open. Smiling tightly at the woman at the door, decked out in sleeveless armor, she nods. “It’s Romanoff-Barton, actually,” she says, and eyes the warrior - _Xoliswa,_ if she remembers right. “Is something wrong?”

Xoliswa shakes her head. “No, Ms. Romanoff-Barton, nothing is wrong but Princess Shuri has requested your presence in her lab.”

Katniss nods, smiles. “Thank you.”

On her way out the door to follow the Dora Milaje warrior, she grabs her leather jacket which lays over the desk’s chair. Threading her arms through it and fishing her braid out from underneath the collar, she follows the armored woman into the elevator. 

The ascent to the lab takes a few minutes and the air between the two women is silent. Xoliswa doesn’t move while she fidgets with the zipper on the jacket, eyes tracking the floors they pass. Finally, as they pass the twentieth floor, Xoliswa breaks the silence.

“How are you faring, Ms. Romanoff-Barton?”

Katniss transfers her faze to the woman, who is still looking at the elevator’s door and she sighs. Slumping against the back wall she crosses her arms. “That’s a loaded question - do you mean physically or emotionally?”

“Both, I suppose.”

She huffs, blowing a few stray hairs out of her face. “My room is nice, the people are nice, everything’s quiet. And it really bothers me, y’know? Because I’m used to this loud compound with people always coming and going and blowing up toasters and the coffee machine being perpetually on.”

Even though Xoliswa is quiet, she continues without prompt. “But then on the flip side, I never really minded the noise - it was comforting, actually. I had grown up in this tiny town that was literally shielded from the rest of the world - not unlike Wakanda, come to think of it. But then I was introduced to the world where everything was loud and the lights never went out. Here, everything is quiet and I don’t know the hallways and where the kitchen is and where I am and aren’t allowed to go.”

Katniss blinks, remembering she’s not in Wanda’s room for their daily guitar lesson and blushes, burying her face in the collar of her jacket. “Sorry.”

Xoliswa turns her head enough that Katniss catches the smallest of smiles on her face. “Don’t be, Ms. Romanoff-Barton. Sometimes, you just need to talk to someone.”

The dark-haired archer laughs. “Well, if we’re going to talk about our feelings, I guess we can start by getting rid of this formal business.” She pushes off the wall and holds out her hand to the warrior. “You can call me Katniss.”

There’s a beat of silence before Xoliswa smiles back, wide enough this time to see her sparkling white teeth and takes her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Xoliswa.”

Katniss’ mouth quirks up. “Thank goodness, otherwise I’ve been calling you the wrong name in this entire time.”

This time, the Dora Milaje warrior actually _laughs_ and Katniss joins in with a chuckle. It’s cut off though as the elevator chimes the same time the door slides open and Xoliswa nods. “Princess Shuri is waiting for you.”

Katniss steps out of the elevator. “Katniss,” she turns and Xoliswa’s mouth twitches again. “My quarters are on the tenth floor if you ever need to talk.”

The elevator doors slide closed and she’s still smiling as she walks through the lab. If she had thought the lab back at the tower and the compound was decked out, the Princess’ lab was something out of a dream. She weaves her way through table after table filled with armor and unfinished experiments and projects, whispering her apologies when she bumps into various other scientists.

Shuri is tapping on a screen in the farthest corner of the lab, back to her and Katniss whistles to let the Wakandan princess know she’s there - she’s learned her lesson. Last time she had been summoned she had accidentally scared the inventor and was almost caught in a blast from a weapon Shuri had picked up in her startled state.

“There you are,” the princess smiles, turning, and Katniss exchanges a fist bump with her, finding a smile starting to spread across her face. The sixteen-year old inventor reminds her so much of Peter, the closest thing she’s ever had to a little brother. She wonders if the two will ever get to meet and smothers a laugh at the possibility of Tony Stark gaining even _more_ gray hairs than he has already at the expanse of two teenage nerds.

Not that she’d ever call the Crown Princess of Wakanda a nerd.

Well, not _yet._

Katniss is still smiling as she looks around the lab, not quite listening to Shuri but her mirth disappears as she catches sight of the screen a few feet from her, playing a reel from the news, muted. She thinks she stumbles while trying to reach the screen to turn up the volume and her fingers scramble for the controls.

“-an explosion at the United Nations Headquarters in Vienna has rocked the streets and though the police and fire department has arrived, there’s no word quite yet if anyone’s been hurt by the blast. Footage from the building’s parking lot reveals the bombing suspect to be the Winter Soldier…”

There’s tears in her eyes as they show the grainy footage and even though it’s dark and the camera is shaky, there’s no denying that the man on the screen is the same one she spent almost six months tracking with Sam and Steve.

_Bucky._

Something settles in her stomach, heavy and dark, when she remembers it’s Natasha who would have been there, the public spokesperson of the Avengers since the Triskelion incident. It’s then she also remembers she has no way of contacting anyone to see if she’s okay - sometimes her mother’s ability to disappear works _too_ well and she’s left in a strange place with no guarantee if she’s even _alive._

Logically she knows Natasha is near indestructible but even genetically-enhanced superheroes are susceptible to bullets and explosions - she remembers her almost bleeding out from a single bullet to her shoulder. If such a small thing had almost killed the Black Widow, what was to say she hadn’t been caught in the blast. 

Over and over, the news plays the footage from someone’s phone from the outside as the windows exploded, raining glass and pieces of burning paper down to the sidewalk as the camera shook and people screamed. Each time, the footage would cut off and freeze for a split second before looping again and she feels sick to her stomach. 

Behind her, Shuri is tapping away at her screen, fingertips forceful against the glass and after a moment, it pings and a familiar voice reaches her ears. Katniss whips around, braid hitting her other shoulder and she drinks in the sight of Natasha, soot on her face and necklace askew but besides that looking whole and all right.

“Mom!” she cries at the same time Natasha breathes _Katniss_ in relief and her eyes fill with tears at the sight because she’s never seen her mother look so beaten down. “You’re okay,” she gasps and she searches the rest of the screen, trying to figure out where she is but the background reveals nothing, just trees.

“I’m okay,” Natasha says, eyes shimmering and Katniss’ chest aches at the sound because she sounds so _lost. “_ I’m okay,” the superhero repeats before taking a steadying breath and turning to the younger woman who watches anxiously behind Katniss.

“Princess Shuri,” her mother nods, mouth turned downwards. “I am so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but King T’Chaka is dead and your brother is after the believed bomber, a man known publicly as the Winter Soldier.”

Shuri chokes out a single sob before straightening and pulling up another screen, fingers flying and Katniss wants to hug the teenager.

_Teenager._

The sick feeling in her stomach grows because this inventor, this princess is almost the same age as Pietro, almost the same age as Peter, and her father is dead.

She doesn’t miss District Twelve, doesn’t miss the woman who never was her mother even despite raising her, but she does miss the seclusion. She misses being able to duck beneath a fence and disappear into the woods, clear her head, she misses being a teenager.

She hasn’t been a teenager since the wormhole in the sky and the knife in the back.

Even just the memory causes her legs to throb and she takes a deep breath because she can’t do this here, can’t do this now. Her and Shuri have been exploring ways to potentially fix her legs and lower back, bring her back to her former glory before everything that happened, but they have a job to do.

Katniss takes one more look at her mother, battle-worn with greying hairs underneath red hair dye and fatigue lines hidden beneath her façade, and pulls up a screen of her own. “Send the footage and we’ll analyze it.”

Natasha is barely pushing mid-thirties but the weary look in her eyes is the same one she wore when she had returned from Lagos - the same one Katniss has come to recognize lately. It seems even her mother is not immune to the ravages of time and as the years go by and the missions become more perilous, Natasha seems to be gaining the same lines as Clint.

It’s the same look when she chucked the duffel bag at her daughter in the dark, the same look when she kissed her forehead, the same look when the helicopter lifted a month ago.

On screen, Natasha looks down and a few seconds later, their comms ping. Shuri is too busy typing on her screen to notice, trying to contact her mother while also trying to get through to T’Challa, who isn’t answering his comm, so Katniss opens the file instead.

She doesn’t know what she was expecting, but this isn’t it.

The footage is from the inside of the conference room and she leans closer. In the lower right-hand corner, her mother shakes hands with the Wakandan king and he smiles at her. Katniss had never met King T’Chaka, never seen him in person but the holograms of him around and the description from Shuri paints him as a wise, serene, almost _fatherly_ king, kind and loving.

The king had already departed when she arrived with the rising sun, already on his way to the United Nations to speak on the matter of the proposed Accords and she wonders about T’Challa. Along with the king, she had never met the prince but Shuri rolls her eyes when she asks, a sly smile on her face as she describes her older brother, stubborn and _infuriatingly_ royal.

But she also speaks with fondness, touching upon times he helped her with a project or carried her to bed when she had fallen asleep in the lab, at her table. When Shuri talks of her older brother, Katniss talks of her younger brother and the two swap stories.

Peter Parker is fifteen, a total dork with stars in his eyes and an excitement that could rival Tony’s, and Katniss misses him. She misses the knock at her door in two in the morning when Peter stays for the weekend at the compound and the two stay up, giggling about anything and everything before passing out on each other.

More so, Katniss misses ribbing Peter about his crush on Michelle, misses watching his face go red when she makes comments under her breath as she passes and she misses the way his eyes grew wide when he once walked into her room unannounced and found Steve passed out in her lap as she read.  

Back at the compound, she wonders how Peter’s doing, how _Steve’s_ doing. Tony knew what was going on and had hugged her close the night before she went to bed and woke up in Wakanda and when Steve had asked, she had smiled tightly and shrugged.

She wonders if he’ll ever forgive her for lying to him, _again._

Most of all, she wonders about Wanda. She’s two years younger than her but the haunted look in her eyes and the way they dart around any room she walks into a room as if she’s walking on nails still stays, despite everything. It’s been three years since Pietro’s death, three years since Wanda’s twin threw himself in front of her dad.

Guitar and training sessions together don’t help her guilt. If she had gotten the chance to pump herself full of steroids again, enough to actually take a step instead of being spirited away by Steve halfway through the battle, she might have been able to help. Maybe if she hadn’t watched the battle through a screen, maybe if she hadn’t been a spectator, her father wouldn’t be walking around with the life of a teenager on his shoulder.

Maybe Wanda wouldn’t cry out in the middle of the night and tear open her drawers with red lightning, maybe she wouldn’t pull her punches during training, maybe her eyes wouldn’t grow dark when she hears Peter laugh.

In the beginning, Wanda had avoided Peter altogether, and although the teenager hadn’t understood at first, Katniss did. Peter’s just like Pietro if you look beneath the surface; snarky but in the end, when it counts, selfless. There’s been countless times the spider-bitten superhero had jumped in front of her during training sessions and if he was so willing to do so when she didn’t need it, what about when she did?

She knew that if it came down to it, Peter would throw himself in front of anyone, with no hesitation and it’s that thought that scares her.

By the way Shuri talks, she thinks T’Challa is the same, the same as Peter Parker, the same as Pietro Maximoff.

And it scares her to no end.

The footage continues, showing the prince and king of Wakanda trading words before the king mounts the stairs to the podium. There’s no sound, so she doesn’t know what he’s saying but watches as Natasha’s spine goes straight and T’Challa’s mouth stretches wide as he runs and leaps towards his father.

The room explodes into smoke and fire and she can imagine the sound of people screaming and glass shattering as the camera shakes before the screen goes black. She watches with bated breath as the security camera seems to reboot and a few seconds later, the feed returns.

People and papers are all over the floor and the wide wall of windows near the podium is completely gone. She searches, eyes wide, for her mother but Natasha’s signature red hair is nowhere to be seen and her stomach drops as she catches sight of T’Challa crawling towards his father.

King T’Chaka lays prone in the rubble of the former wall and podium and T’Challa pulls him into his lap and rocks him back and forth. The prince’s elegant black suit is ripped and the bottom part of his tie is gone. Katniss watches as paramedics sweep the room and the prince closes his eyes as he lays the king back onto the floor. 

To her right, Shuri makes a noise of frustration. “I can’t find anything on the Winter Soldier!”

Katniss turns towards her, but Shuri swipes at her eyes and dismisses the screen. “T’Challa’s going to kill me,” she mutters as she takes a seat at a nearby desk and pulls up a screen Katniss has never seen before.

The princess hunches over the keyboard and Katniss returns her focus to the screen in front of her, tapping the glass to bring up the feed from the garage below. Along with the conference room, Natasha had sent her the footage that the news claimed showed Bucky - _the Winter Soldier -_ as the culprit.

The top right of the screen is stamped with the time and she watches closely as she speeds up the footage until it’s a minute before the explosion. There’s no movement in the garage as she fast-forwards and there’s no movement until five minutes _after_ the time of the bombing.

A hooded figure walks by quickly, holding a duffel bag but not before turning their head. With bated breath, she pauses the footage and zooms in. At the first the image is fuzzy but she runs it through multiple filters and eventually, it sharpens. 

She sucks in a breath; if she had any doubt before, there’s none now.

For there, on the screen, face partially covered by the hood but still shockingly clear, is the Winter Soldier.


	2. love, if it didn't leave you lonely

It’s not uncommon for Steve Rogers to wake to an empty bed. 

Most mornings, Katniss is already up and moving, _the hunter in her restless_ she says, and he stretches. As he kicks off the covers, FRIDAY informs him it’s after eight and that Natasha and Tony are in the kitchen. 

Despite being in the army for almost two years and being used to being up with the sun, sometimes he finds himself sleeping in and it always messes with his system. So when he steps into jeans and a plain shirt and stumbles out into the common room, he’s still rubbing his eyes. 

The kitchen area is connected to the living room and he heads straight to the coffee maker, yawning a _good morning_ to the two at the counter. 

It takes a few seconds for the realization to click that they’re silent, cut off from a conversation. 

He brings the mug to his lips and waves them on. “Pretend I’m not here.” 

There’s no witty remark from Tony, no smirk from Natasha and they all stare at each other for a few seconds before he clears his throat, the hairs on his neck standing on end. Something’s wrong. 

“O-kay then,” he mutters as moves out of the room. “I know when I’m not wanted. Continue your whispering without me then.” 

Katniss’ favorite place to train is _technically_ her father’s archery room two floors down so he heads there, hitting the third floor button in the elevator. Light music floats through the tiny room and the elevator slows for a second. 

Steve figures Katniss is in the archery room with her father - where she is most mornings to warm up her legs for the upcoming training routine they’ll probably have further into the day because it’s quiet - so his eyebrows knit when the elevator door slides open. 

Clint steps into the room, nodding to Steve before yawning. “Where to, Cap?” 

He stares at Katniss’ dad for a minute. “The uh - the archery room. I'm trying to find Katniss. Have you seen her?” 

 _Something_ flickers across Clint’s face so fast Steve wonders if anything was there or he just imagined it. “Nope," the older archer shrugs, rolling his shoulders. "She didn’t send for me to come down. Sorry bud.” 

There’s something going on, but he can’t put a finger on it.

“I’ll check anyways,” Steve smiles, uneasy. “I’ve got something to tell her and she wasn’t in her room this morning.” 

This would be the time Clint would side-eye him, make a snarky comment about _why_ Steve was in his daughter’s room but the archer just hums affirmatively, looking straight ahead. 

Okay, something’s _definitely_ wrong. 

The elevator dings and the doors slide open gracefully, revealing the archery room and it’s empty, the lights only turning on as FRIDAY greets Clint and sets up the course for him. The older man sends Steve a look before stepping into the room and setting down his bow to warm up. 

As Clint stretches, Steve wanders to the locker room on the other side of the training room, rapping on the ladies’ room door. “Katniss?” 

No one answers so he pushes the door open and the lights click on. 

There’s no one there. If something felt off before, it definitely feels off now. 

Almost every morning, without fail, Katniss would be down here, shooting arrows into holograms and making sure that even though her legs were failing her rapidly, that she could still shoot. If she wasn’t here, the roof would be the next place to check. 

Sometimes, she admits she misses District Twelve, the little town in the woods her parents had put her in. She admits she misses the sunrises, the quiet, the tranquility, the simplicity of her life there. 

“FRIDAY, is Katniss on the roof?” 

There’s a moment of silence as the AI checks before her automated voice fills the room. “No, sir.” 

His head spins. “Scan the compound, please.” 

This takes a little longer, just a few more seconds but it feels like _hours_ because if she’s gone on a mission, Natasha would be gone too or he would be notified as her unofficial partner. 

“Ms. Romanoff-Barton is not on the premises, sir.” 

His heart beating wildly in his chest, he makes a beeline for the elevator. “FRIDAY, pull up footage of last night please.” 

A beat of silence. “I can’t, sir, it looks like part of the footage from eleven to one in the morning has been erased.” 

He can’t move fast enough. It’s rare that he panics like this but every time he blinks, Katniss is kidnapped, gone, missing and his heart is in his throat. His finger throbs when he hits the elevator’s button back to the kitchen but he hardly notices as his pulse flutters. 

“Natasha! Tony! Gather the team!”

Both are still in the kitchen, chatting, and they both whip around. Tony holds out his hands, eyebrows knit. “Woah there, old man slow down-“ 

Steve throws Tony’s hands off of him and turns to Natasha. “Romanoff, Katniss isn’t on the premises and part of FRIDAY’s footage has been deleted, we need to gather the team and see if you can recover it…” 

He trails off, confused, as Natasha continues to stir her spoon around her tea and leans up against the countertop. Her face is clear but _something_ glitters in her eyes, the same look as Clint and the same as Tony and he straightens. 

“You know where she is, don’t you,” he growls and she doesn’t move, eyes still focused on her mug. She’s quiet and anger bubbles in his stomach. 

“Romanoff!” he barks, angry now, ready to explode, but she doesn’t give any indication that she heard him and her tea is cold, swirling in circles. 

“ _Technically_ ,” Clint drawls as he strolls into the kitchen, collar damp and hair sticking up in places from sweat, “it’s Romanoff-Barton. What’s this about?” 

Natasha looks up as he enters. “Operation Pretense,” she says, taking a sip of her tea and Clint’s eyes darken as he mutters something under his breath. _I thought it’d take longer,_ Steve thinks he said but he’s not exactly intent on listening, not exactly worried about Katniss’ father. 

Just her mother, just the woman who faked her death for eight years and left her daughter in a small town without basic technology with a mentally-ill woman. 

“Steve, I can’t tell you anything but I _need_ you to trust me, and if not me, trust _Katniss,”_ Clint says, bending over the countertop and folding his hands. “She’s fine, I promise.” 

Logically, he knows this is the best way to keep Katniss from Ross. If Pierce had so easily manipulated her into almost breaking the team apart, it would be child’s play for General Ross because the team already _is._ Every interaction with Tony is tense, and Natasha’s shoulders never loosen. 

“Is she safe?” 

Natasha sets down her mug, and the sound is loud in the quiet kitchen. For a space so big and so open, every noise reverberates in his skull. Maybe it’s the realization that Katniss is gone, which means the nightmares will be coming back and _yes,_ he’s become dependent on her. 

“Steve, I wouldn’t send my daughter away unless I was 100% sure she was safe and nothing could get to her. I can’t tell you where she is, but I assure you that she’s somewhere Ross won’t find her. Whatever’s coming, whatever happens, she doesn’t need to see it.” 

 _Never stopped you before,_ he wants to spit but he doesn't. 

He nods once, final, and turns on his heel. 

He goes back to the room, searches under her pillow and upturns the folders on the desk. The hook by the door with her treasured jacket is gone and her boots are too. There’s a hole in the closet where her clothes once were and he sits heavily down on the side of the bed. 

She’s gone, and this time he’s not with her.

 

 

 

 

The lines on Clint’s face grow deeper and Wanda’s small smiles disappear in that month _._ Secretary of State, General Ross, is scheduled to present the Sokovia Accords to them today and he’s already chosen; so has Tony. Neither has shared but everyone just _knows_ and that knowledge is already starting to pull them apart by the seams. 

If a pamphlet of papers is enough to already start fissures, he’s scared to find out what would happen if Katniss was here. Tony had said before she was the heart of the team, the glue that kept them all together, and even now, Steve knows he’s right. 

Any one of them would follow Katniss to the ends of the earth and side with her; she’s broken but whole and there’s something about her you can’t _deny._ He knows what Tony’s going to do, has seen the hologram of the smiling boy and the bags underneath his eyes. He’s not sure about Natasha or Clint, both wild cards that are even more unpredictable now that Katniss is out of the equation.

 

 

 

 

Her door is closed when he stops before it and there’s no sound from within when he knocks. Frowning, he raps his knuckles against the wood again and leans his ear against the wood. “Wanda?” 

There’s a slight rustling of sheets and it grows quiet. A few seconds later, “It’s open.” 

Wanda’s room is probably one of the most decorated rooms in the entire compound, either Peter or Katniss’ room being the second. Once she had officially become an Avenger, they realized as a team she didn’t have a home and agreed on making her one. The walls are a navy blue, the covers a soft gray and there’s an acoustic in the corner. Somehow, Steve knows she hasn’t touched it since last month, when Katniss and her last had their bi-weekly guitar lesson. 

Wanda’s perched on the edge of her bed, watching the tv on mute. The same reel of footage loops, her throwing a ball of barely-contained fire into a building to save innocent people on the ground and the windows bursting to pieces. 

Every news outlet is running the footage from a bystander on the ground who started recording when he first heard a scream.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” he says as he leans against the doorway, arms crossed. On the bed Wanda snorts, bringing her hand up to her mouth. The television, while the volume is low, continues droning on about _enhanced individuals_ and _Nigeria._

He shuts it off. 

“Then turn the tv back on,” she says, still staring at the wall. Her back is ramrod straight while her shoulders are hunched, as if she’s trying to disappear into herself. “They’re being very specific.” 

Something in his chest aches because despite everything, Wanda Maximoff is still a teenager alone in a world without her older brother. 

And now Katniss is gone too. 

Steve desperately hopes Peter comes over in three days, because there’s only so much he can do. “I should’ve clocked that bomb vest long before you had to deal with it,” he says, walking further into the room. He uncrosses his arms, lets his face falls. 

“Rumlow said _Bucky_ and all of a sudden I was a 16-year old kid again in Brooklyn.” He sits down on the end of the bed next to her and she turns towards him, still guarded. “And people died.” 

Something’s building up in his throat, in his eyes and he stares down at the soft carpet underneath his socked feet. “It’s on me.”

He looks over at Wanda and she raises her eyebrows, as if to acknowledge. “It’s on both of us,” and she says, and picks at the chipped paint on her nails, a fiery red. 

“This job,” his jaw flexes as he remembers saying these exact words to Katniss after Sokovia when she’d sobbed in the Quinjet after the final body count came back in, “we try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn’t mean everybody.” 

Wanda looks back up at him and he tries his best to smile reassuringly. “But if we can’t find a way to live with that, then next time...” He trails off, leaving the sentence open and the air between them hanging but she _knows._

A beat of silence. “…maybe nobody gets saved.”

Wanda’s breath hitches notably and she nods. focusing her gaze back on the wall. Steve watches her frame and is once again hit with the realization of just how _young_ she is, she’s barely eighteen and she’s seen more horror than one normal person their entire life.

Suddenly her back straightens with noticeable surprise and Steve looks up to see Vision materialize through the wall, dressed in a sweater with a popped button-up collar. The combination of the stone on his forehead and red skin clashes with the normal pants and shirt but he’s trying, and next to him Wanda sighs, exasperated but not annoyed. 

“Vis,” she says turning, softly chiding him. “We talked about this.”

Internally, Steve smiles. He knows that despite Vision not knowing it and Wanda not seeing it, it’s obvious the level of affection they hold for one another. “Yes,” he nods, gesturing towards the door, “but the door was opened so I assumed that-“ 

He cuts himself off and Steve can _feel_ the look radiating off of Wanda behind him, silently trying to convey _shut up_ to the AI-turned superhero. 

“Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark is requesting everyone’s presence in the common room.” 

“We’ll be right down,” he nods, and although they’re being summoned immediately, whatever it is can wait. Right now, Wanda needs _someone_ and he’ll be that someone.

 

 

 

 

When he walks back into the living room almost half an hour later, he stops. The entire team - or what’s left of them minus Thor, Bruce, and Katniss (and Peter, who’s at home) is gathered around the large glass table they’re meant to share meals at but it never happens. 

There’s no meal schedule when you’re regularly saving the world. 

Tony’s sitting off to the side and the smile he sends Steve as he walks in and Wanda trails after him is tight. At the front of the room, there’s a man with white hair and a glimmer in his eye that sets Steve on edge-

“Ah, Mr. Rogers. Thank you for joining us.” 

The look Wanda sends him is bordering on _terrified_ as she takes a seat across from him. Next to him, Natasha sends a look to Clint, who subtly nods back.

_Operation Pretense._

The room falls silent for a few seconds until the man clears his throat. Natasha is the picture of calm and collected as she leans back in her chair and Clint yawns. “Are we going to start,” he asks, folding his hands over his stomach, “or are we waiting for someone.” 

There’s that look again. The man smiles - _smirks_ actually, there’s no joy in this except cruelty _-_ and palms the remote in his hand. “Actually, we’re waiting for your daughter, Mr. Barton. Is she around?”

Steve watches Clint’s face closely but there’s no budge, no flicker or recognition. In fact, Clint is the epitome of calm. He shrugs. “I’m not her keeper, if she’s not here that’s up to her. We can start - I doubt she’ll show up.”

He can almost _feel_ Natasha’s smirk, Tony’s silent taunt, but if the man - General Ross, he reminds himself - notices, he doesn’t say a thing, just nods. “Let’s begin then.”

 

 

 

 

Behind him, Rhodey and Sam spit at each other and his finger is on the page's corner as Tony tucks his hands in his pockets. Natasha is quiet, as is Clint, and Vision folds his hands from his place next to Wanda, whose shoulders are shaking.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. 

 

 

 

 

Peggy’s funeral is packed and quiet, the weight of the world literally on his shoulders and instead of Katniss being by his side as he holds back tears, it’s Sam. On the podium, Sharon drones on, something about _planting yourself like a tree_ and his resolve hardens. 

Afterwards, Natasha whispers _I didn’t want you to be alone_ and when he steps forward, pulls him into an embrace. Despite being the same height as her daughter, she doesn’t smell like leather and sweat and woods, but rather metal and smoke and it’s all covered with something floral that makes his nose itch. 

He’s not the only one trying to hold it together on the outside.

That evening, the jet rolls out and he watches it through the window. Natasha does not look out the window and Clint spends the rest of the night in the training room. The next morning, Steve wanders down and there’s arrows in the dummies and one through one of the pillars. The compound is quiet and every noise is a cataclysm. Tony and him tiptoe around each other until Natasha calls, and Steve’s there before Stark realizes it because if Natasha dies, Katniss is lost.

“Stay out of this,” Natasha warns him over the phone after the explosion that rocks the UN and leaves Prince - King- T’Challa after Bucky. Her voice is shaky, vulnerable, and he remembers her in the chapel.

_You know what’s about to happen._

“You know I can’t,” he says, sunglasses falling down on his nose and bomber jacket tight on his shoulders. Inside the café, he knows Sam is waiting for him and he knows this will be the last time he talks to Natasha for a while. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the timeline is messed up a little - i published the first part before noticing it so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ artistic liberty, i guess.
> 
> edit 3/17/18: i changed the timeline errors and moved some things around. enjoy!


	3. love, it wouldn't be

_“Steve,” someone breathes through the comm and he freezes, shield buried in the chest of one of Ultron’s robots and he calls it back. Next to him, Natasha exchanges a look with him before jumping on top of another sentry’s shoulders and flipping around, red hair a beacon against the ruins of the Russian city._

_“Steve,” Katniss’ voice warbles again and he swallows the lump in his throat knowing what’s to come. After the first fight in New York City, Tony had an emergency button built into her suit which would beep two times in a row and inform anyone listening that she needed out, right then._

_He knows her legs have been getting worse with every injection of the cocktail of drugs that keeps her upright but the team always quiets when the subject is brought up. It’s something everyone refuses to talk about and the sniffs on the other side of the comm draw him back._

_“I’m coming, Kat, stay where you are,” he breathes, nodding to Natasha and he hears Clint groan something. If Katniss had hit the button, it must be bad. When Tony had first installed it, she had gotten into a huge argument with her godfather on it and why she didn’t need it._

_Stark had uninstalled it until the explosion that claimed her hearing and right now, the beeping is taunting him. “Where are you?” he yells, launching himself over a prone car and he throws his shield into an incoming sentry._

_Katniss’ gasps are heavy in his ear. “I - I don’t know,” she whispers and for a moment, the comm statics out as an explosion erupts on her end. A second later, she’s back on and he nods even though she can’t see him. “Breathe, I’ll find you. Hang in there, Kat.”_

_She’s not even trying to hide how shaky her voice is and that_ scares _him because she hates showing weakness, as one of the only non-powered individuals on the team. His heart creeps up his throat with each heavy breath and he grunts as a robot slams into him and he goes flying._

_The cracked pavement scrapes his hands through his shredded gloves and he chokes in a split breath of smoke. A few feet away, a building crumbles without beams to support it and he rolls out of the way as it folds in on itself,_

_His comm crackles. “Steve!” Natasha yells, grunting, “Thor just did a fly-by and according to your position on Tony’s radar, you’re a few blocks from Katniss. She’s three blocks to the right and from her vitals, something’s--” she hesitates, “--wrong.”_

_He runs for three blocks. It’s not like it’s hard; he’s run longer before but he feels winded as he throws his shield at a cluster of sentries that are closing in on a storefront without windows. By Natasha’s report, Katniss has to be in there. His feet pound against the pavement and he vaults off a crashed car towards the robots when they explode into light and smoke and fire._

_Steve goes flying right back into the car and his ears ring. Something’s digging into his back and he groans, the comm in his ear screeching, probably because the tech has shorted out from the explosion. He pulls himself upright and realizes the ringing in his ear isn’t his comm, but Katniss._  

 

 

 

 

“Give me a break!” Tony roars, vein in his neck popping and for a moment, Steve notices the lines on his face, the greys in his dark hair. Katniss’ disappearance, the Accords, and the looming threat of General Ross hanging over them has taken a toll on all of them and there’s always a slump in Natasha’s back. 

With every passing minute, Wanda pulls further into herself and the bags under her eyes grow larger, unable to be hidden by concealer. For God’s sake, she’s practically a child, barely two years older than Peter and the weight of eleven dead people and the world shouldn’t be on her shoulders. 

Steve breathes out once, twice. He remembers Tony’s words not a minute before - _Truth is we need you, she needs you -_ and that racing in his chest dims. “I’m doing what has to be done to keep the Avengers together,” Tony says quietly into the room that keeps them contained closely but in reality, has them miles apart. “I’m doing this to prevent something worse.” 

The same fire that burned in his chest at the thought of Wanda, locked in the compound, flares up and he knows he’s being reckless. He knows this is exactly why Natasha and Clint sent Katniss away in the dead of night but she’s always been there, if not to keep him calm then to keep him rational when he isn’t and vice versa, but he lets the flames be stoked. 

He frowns, shakes his head. “Keep telling yourself that,” he spits, and the pen clatters against the table. There’s a sadness in Tony’s eyes, so quickly replacing the anger, but he can’t stop his. 

“I’d hate to break up the set.” 

The door clicks shut behind him.

 

 

 

 

Barnes is gone, the dent in the elevator shaft door and unconscious men on the floor evident to that, and so is Steve. Tony remembers watching Steve, Sam and Sharon head for the door almost as soon as the lights went down and from the back of the car, he allows himself a moment to breathe. 

Pepper is gone, Katniss is gone, and he’s adrift. Maybe sending the two people he depended on the most away might not have been the best idea, his brain whispers cruelly and he winces, rather pulling up the picture of Peter again. 

In the picture, Peter is smiling ear-to-ear and laughing loudly at something Katniss must have said. The picture is from the footage of the last time the two trouble-makers were together and had thrown a Frisbee around the compound, trying to see who hit the most security drones. 

The picture is by his bedside, in his pocket and it’s barely been a month but the fold marks on the paper are a testament to just how sane it’s keeping him. The sunlight on Katniss illuminates the undertones of red in her hair, just another reminder of how much she resembles her mother and in the background, Wanda is also laughing, smile private but _there._

Tony has never wanted kids, still doesn’t, but he traces the edges with his thumb before tucking the picture into his pocket when FRIDAY chimes from the front as she steers electronically. “We’re here, boss.” 

“Put it in park, I might be a while.” 

Tony Stark steps out onto the sidewalk in front of an apartment building in Queens and looks upwards, removing his sunglasses and squinting against the sunlight. He’s never seen where Peter lives, Happy always being the one to pick the kid up from school on weekends when he stayed at the compound, and he notes the lack of doorman. 

He pushes the sunglasses back onto his nose before anyone recognizes him and when he buzzes, a woman - the kid’s aunt he presumes - answers and lets him up. The elevator doesn’t work so he climbs five flights of stairs and knocks on a red door with chipped paint and crooked numbers. 

“Hi, Mrs. Parker, may I come in?” 

 

 

 

 

Katniss watches the footage over and over again from the perspective of highway cameras and the police’s dashboards and shitty Snapchat stories. No matter the angle, she can’t see Steve’s face as they surround him, take the shield, handcuff him, and there’s no fight in the defeated curve of his spine. 

Barnes is pushed to the ground and he doesn’t struggle as the police attach a cuff to his arm that will render is useless. Across from them, the officers aim their guns at T’Challa and he removes the mask, raises his hands in a sign of peace. 

She doesn’t know how to breathe. 

Shuri doesn’t sleep, holes up in her lab and on the fourth day after the arrest, finally crashes. The Queen finds her, tutting, and just slips a blanket under her daughter’s folded hands. 

Her heart aches for her own mother, for her arms, and Queen Ramonda smiles sadly at her. 

“No one ever thinks of those left behind by the war until it’s finished,” she whispers and Katniss turns back to the screens, hits play. She waits until the Queen has left until she allows herself a single minute to process, to cry, before focusing back on her work. 

Barnes is gone, Steve and Sam and Sharon are gone, and Natasha hasn’t contacted them since Lagos. The news is going wild and they loop the footage from the highway and the leaked story of them escaping later but she ignores it. There’s nothing new, they’re grasping at straws, but she refuses to. 

Her knees ache and outside, the fog grows denser.

 

 

 

  

_His ears are ringing, sharp, piercing and maybe he groans, he can’t hear anything. The world is a blur of lights and crimson and his head spins when he tries to sit up, mouth tinged with metal and salt._

_He blinks once, twice, and registers his name._

_“Steve!” someone yells from somewhere around him, desperately, and it’s the recognition of_ who _that spurs him to ignore the feeling of wanting to throw up and scramble for his shield before another round of robots are disintegrated by light._  

_“Katniss!” he hollers, and his head spins so violently he falls back to his knees, the weight of his body too much. It comes back in pieces; the signal, the windowless store front, her screaming his name before the world blacked out._

_There’s no answer and his fingers are bleeding as he crawls towards the splintered door, knowing he has to get inside before more sentries find him - her - or they’re both dead. The ground is cracked beneath him from whatever Ultron’s doing and in his comm, Natasha yells hoarsely something he can’t decipher._

_For a few seconds, his comm beeps again and there’s soot on his face as he manages to pull himself up, stumble into the beaten-down storefront. His chest hurts with every breath and with the hand not holding his shield, he tucks it where his ribs are. If he had to guess, he’s cracked or possibly even broken a rib, maybe more._

_Tony yells that he needs to find Katniss_ now, _her vitals going wild but he can’t see through the plaster dust and spots behind his eyes that reappear with every blink. He tries to open his mouth to call her again but there’s a loud crashing and he looks up in time to see the ceiling cave in._

_Right before he blacks out, he hears his name._

There’s shaky footage from the airport, from people hiding within and she slows down the footage, zooms in, searching. For a few seconds, she sees Peter swinging around outside the windows before crashing through it, a split second of Wanda throwing cars around. 

Something in her chest aches at the sight and she zooms in further. In the background, faintly, she can see the red, white and blue of Steve’s suit as he runs next to a long-haired figure with a glinting arm. _Bucky._

Right before the footage cuts off, every time, she sees Vision holding Wanda’s body, preparing to fire, and missing. But she never sees what happens afterwards, never sees who he’s aiming for or who he’d hit, because the footage just begins to loop again. 

She bangs her fist on the table, growling. This is the only video she’s found and it’s all over the news, but they have less than she, technology not as advanced. In the background, Shuri’s hair is tied with black ribbons, customary when in mourning in Wakanda, and there has been no word on T’Challa. 

Katniss loops the footage over and over again and catches no sight of the cat-like royal, and Shuri doesn’t look up this time when Xoliswa walks in. The warrior bows her head for a second before continuing. “Ms. Romanoff-Barton, you informed me that you wanted to get in a sparring match later today and I just completed my rounds. Would you like to--“ 

Before Xoliswa even finishes, Katniss is nodding and dismissing the video on the screen, eager to get away from the footage and her own mind. Shuri grunts goodbye from her work table and the elevator is smooth in its descent to her room. 

Xoliswa waits outside the door as she replaces her flats with the odd sneaker-looking shoes she was provided with upon arrival in her room and has found they’re good for sparring. Her braid becomes a ponytail and she’s still twisting the hairtie as she nods to the warrior. “Ready to get beat, oh great warrior?”

Xoliswa’s returning smile is worth the bruises on her shoulders later and the tenderness in her legs when she runs laps the next morning before returning to the lab. 

 

 

 

 

Blood drips from his nose when he breathes and not a foot away, Tony is gasping into the frigid air as he registers the giant vibranium shield in his chest. He limps as he tries to reach his best friend and his breath makes clouds in the air.

 Bucky’s nose and lower half of his face is nothing but fresh crimson and his ribs protest when he helps him up. His head is pounding, yelling, his ribs screaming with every minute but he ignores it, too focused on not remembering Sokovia, and Tony groans.

 “You don’t deserve that!” he hoarsely yells, and it cuts through him. _She was right to leave,_ he thinks grimly before letting go of the shield that bears his history, his life and breathes out harshly.

 Tony stays down and T’Challa nods when they make it to the roof.

 The back of the jet is cold and he sits in the corner, watching as Bucky floats on a dark mass that undulates with what seems like every breath. T’Challa is in the front, mask off and face grim, and Steve remembers his father is dead, he’s returning to a kingdom that’s now his.

 He doesn’t know what to say and drifts off to the thought that he has no clue where they’re going.

 

 

 

 

Tony watches the footage later, when his shiner and slight limp is the only signs of the fight in the frigid winter, and the letter is sharp against his fingertips. 

He throws it in the trash and the burner phone finds a permanent home in the bottom drawer in his quiet bedroom with its bare walls and empty closet. The compound is quiet, almost every Avenger in the Raft and Rhodey smiles tightly at him. 

He doesn’t smile back and watches the footage again of Steve and Bucky disappearing into the jet and it taking off. He doesn’t know the pilot, the destination, but the ship glints against the snow and he doesn’t sleep at night. 

Natasha and Clint are both gone and contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t know where Katniss is. Maybe if he did, he’d actually sleep at night, maybe he’d call Peter back, maybe he’d visit Wanda in the Raft. 

 

 

 

 

Steve watches the glass ice over, watches Bucky smile as he goes back under and once again he wonders how everything got so _awful._ Bucky should of died in that canyon, he should of died in the ice, Peggy should have moved on. Katniss should have stayed away when SHIELD was compromised, should never have ventured outside District 12. 

Everything is complicated and even though they’re healed, his ribs ache. 

“Come, Captain, and meet my sister. She is very eager to meet the famous Captain America. She’s heard much about you.” 

He say anything, doesn’t smile, doesn’t even ask what he means by that, because there’s a ringing in his ears when he remembers Tony on the ground, eyes wet, voice hoarse with emotion. He remembers the shaking as he yelled, the unsteadiness in his tone and aching body, and the weight of guilt in Bucky’s wide eyes, glazed over with shock. 

 _I shouldn’t have left him._  

He falls in step with the Wakandan king, and they move silently through the halls. “You know what they’ll do if they find him here,” he says as the board the elevator and the doors slide closed. There’s no soft music as they ride and the tension in his shoulder furthers because the one at the Avengers Tower and then the Avengers compound did. 

“Let them try.” 

Some nights he misses Brooklyn, misses his little apartment and the nights Bucky stayed over because he was sick, form racked with coughs. Some nights he misses sitting by Peggy’s bed, his modern apartment, his sparse room at the compound next to Natasha’s. 

Soundlessly, the doors slide open and there’s a small _ding_ as they step off. The King’s black robes are the only sound as they make their way down the hall and stop at a door at the end. T’Challa presses his hand to the wall and again, without a sound, the glass doors glide open. 

Steve marvels. 

 _This must be the lab,_ he thinks dimly, but it’s his only thought. The glass must be sound-proof, somehow, because opening them popped the bubble of silence from the corridor and inside, people in white lab coats tinker with things he’s never seen before. 

“This way, Captain,” the King says and he follows without a word, not trusting his mouth because he probably looks starry-eyed but bitter thoughts build in the back of his throat. Sour on his tongue, he holds them back. _Where was Wakanda during all the wars that tore the world apart?_

T’Challa strolls through the lab, movements familiar with the space as he ducks and dances around the people working. As he moves through the space, the people stop what they’re doing and cross their arms across their chest and he does the same, smile playing on his lips. 

He can do nothing but follow the Wakandan king and ignore the whispers. 

He’s so taken with his surroundings he almost collides with T’Challa when he stops and clears his throat, trying to catch the attention of a petite woman with braided twin buns. Contrary to the rest of the people in the room, the girl is dressed in a orange dress that stands out against her dark skin and at the noise, she turns. 

“T’Challa!” she says, smiling, and walks forward to hug him and this must be the King’s sister, Steve thinks. The King draws her into a hug and Steve tries not to notice the bags under her eyes and the way her eyes close when she’s drawn into the embrace. 

Her fingers curl slightly around his robes and there’s a flash of _something_ across her face when T’Challa steps back but it all disappears when she catches sight of him. 

A knowing smirk grows slowly across her face and it sets him on edge as he steps forward and bows slightly. “Shuri,” T’Challa says, “this is Captain Rogers.” 

“I’ve heard all about you,” the Princess comments as she nods, and she laughs loudly when he mumbles _why does everyone keep saying that_ under his breath. “Your reputation proceeds you, Steven.” 

He doesn’t dwell. “Princess Shuri, I have an odd request but it’s urgent.” 

She just nods, leaning back against the counter, and there’s still traces of a smirk on her face. “I’m all ears, Captain.” 

“I need help finding someone.”

 

 

 

 

Shuri promises to start searching immediately and he thanks her, offering to help but she just brushes it off. “You have much to do, Captain Rogers, and I won’t keep you from that,” she had said and he had remembered the sparse room with his fingerprint on the scanner and the empty bed against the wall. 

There’s another door, presumably to another room farther down the hall, but T’Challa doesn’t say anything, so neither does he. He wishes the Wakandan king goodnight, closes the door, leans against it. All of a sudden, his body is heavy and his neck can’t bear the weight of what he’s done. 

He slides to the floor, back to the hall, and closes his eyes, lets his head fall backward. Maybe he thinks of Katniss, maybe he thinks of the groaning of Clint in his earpiece and the harsh breaths of Natasha when she was thrown across the tarmac and the fact that he’s split up a family. 

It’s his fault. 

He tosses and turns that night, remembering Wanda’s pained yell and the sickening thud of Rhodey’s body against the ground and the quiet shaking of Natasha’s voice on the jet. Next to him, the bed is large and cold and he doesn’t think of Katniss, doesn’t think of her warmth beside him and the evergreen forest body wash that lingers in their sheets. 

He doesn’t sleep, pads his way to the only room he knows of. The cold is floor against his thighs when he sits, wraps the blanket around his body, and he’s sickly all over again. 

“I really messed up this time, didn’t I, Buck?” 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

He wakes with a start, a yell on his lips and panic crawling up his throat, shredding his vocal cords. He searches the sheets next to him blindly, grasping for something - _someone_ \- that isn’t - _who isn’t_ \- there and her name spills from her lips. 

Maybe he rips back the sheets, maybe he’s reaching for his shield by the end of the bed when he remembers it’s gone, the last part of Peggy, and he’s not in the compound, and Katniss is not there. Clint and Natasha are gone, in hiding somewhere probably, and Rhodey is most likely dead. Sam, Wanda and Scott are locked up, according to T’Challa, and he’s alone. 

There’s a knock on the door. 

He whips his head up, approaches the door like he would a suspect, and he mourns his shield. It’s probably gone by now, disposed by Tony, another reminder of Howard that he knows is a bad taste in Stark’s mouth, and places his hand on the scanner. 

With a _hiss_ it slides open, and a woman he hasn’t seen before nods. “Captain Rodgers, your presence is requested in the Princess’ lab as soon as you are ready.” 

His clothes from yesterday will have to do and he splashes water on his face, avoids looking in the large mirror that spans the wall. He reappears and the woman is in the same spot, not a piece of armor moved the slightest inch. 

He nods and without another look she walks off, presumably expecting him to follow. 

Everything is quiet, and the sound of his footsteps echo in the hallway. The eeriness creeps up his spine, crawls inside his brain, makes him want to scream. He misses the compound, the sound of Katniss’ snark and Peter’s laughter and Wanda’s amused comments. He misses Tony and his quips, Natasha and her obsession for coffee, even Barton’s whoopee-cushions under his mattress. 

The woman doesn’t say anything and he walks into the lift the same minute the other door in the hallway slides open and _someone_ steps out, head down. 

His breath catches, throat closing, threatening to strangle him. 

There’s a sharp pain in his hand and a shout and he realizes he’s stuck his hand into the doorway to stop the door from closing and at the noise of the woman behind him yelling, the girl at the end of the hallway looks up and turns. 

Her hair is long, cascading down her back, and she’s wearing simple black pants and a yellow blouse that billows with every movement. Even from this distance, he can see her eyes widen and her chest expand and her gray-blue eyes light up like he’s never seen them before. 

_“Katniss!”_

Then he’s running, mindless of the fact this is a palace and everything is quiet because she’s _here_ and _safe_ and _beautiful_ and _running_ and not limping and his mind is reeling as she crashes into him - 

“Steve!” she gasps into his neck as she crushes him against her, arms around his neck and he lifts her, hugs her as close as humanely possible. In his arms, she is warm and whole and alive and he hopes this isn’t a dream, isn’t something he can wake up for because his heart couldn’t take it. 

 _Katniss Katniss Katniss_ he chants into the skin of her exposed neck and her whole body is shaking in his grasp and he loosens it, to check if she’s alright but she refuses to let go. Maybe his legs threaten to give out but hers don’t and then her lips are on his and he’s crying. 

She’s gasping when she finally pulls back, lips chapped and cheeks red, chest heaving and he swoops back in, ignores the taste of salt. “H-how,” he manages to get out the next time they pull apart for air, her hands on his cheeks and his in her hands. 

Laughing as tears stream down her face, Steve thinks he’s never been happier. It’s been almost a year, and she whispers into his mouth that it was Shuri, her technology, and he could thank the princess every minute of his remaining hours, every second of his existing minutes and it would never be enough. 

“You found me,” she whispers into the column of his throat that night, his arms around her and her weight on his, hovering, waiting. He smiles up at her, tangling his fingers in her hair as it falls over her shoulder and he doesn’t answer until she’s asleep. 

“No,” he says into the silence that no longer chokes him, “you found _us.”_

 

 

 

Tony watches the footage later, of the break. They don't even try to hide their presence, disconnect the cameras, wipe up the evidence. There's fist-sized dents in the doors to the cells and tiny triangle holes he traces with his fingers later in the walls. On the floor sits the broken electric collar and in the footage, Katniss Romanoff-Barton looks directly into the camera.

He leaves Secretary Ross on hold, dials Natasha's number.

It goes to voicemail and he sits back, loops the footage. He knows she is long gone by now, doesn't even try Clint's. Wherever they are, they're safe, and he's angry, broken, left to pick up the pieces of his own mistake.

A family broken and a family reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, obviously i messed with the timeline a bit and in this, peter already knows the avengers. it's a minor change but comparing the three youngest avengers - katniss, wanda, and peter - made me even more scared for infinity war.
> 
> see you next time, and again, another huge shoutout to emily.

**Author's Note:**

> “solnyshko” - small sun


End file.
